Bison Steve Blues
by BonsaiBabe
Summary: On the pretext of searching for supplies, Arcade and Boone sneak away for some alone time :


The door frame hit Arcade Gannon in between the shoulders hard enough to smart, but for the moment he didn't feel it. Another nuclear bomb could go off at this very moment, and it still wouldn't be enough to drag Arcade's attention away from the hands around his waist and the mouth on his neck. This was the first chance in weeks that he and Boone were able to sneak away together, and it wouldn't be wasted. Boone moved his sloppy kisses from Arcade's neck, briefly to his jaw line, then finally to his face. Arcade jockeyed to join their mouths, roughly bumping their noses together before finding Boone's lips. The dull pain did nothing to damper their lust, if anything it made them randier. Arcade could only manage a few simple kisses before the urge to shove his tongue into Boone's mouth overcame him. _My mother used to say 'never suppress an urge…' _he thought to himself.

Boone's lips provided little resistance to the idea, and soon Arcade was lapping at Boone's tongue, content for the moment to just taste his lover. Languidly, Arcade's hand reached around Boone's neck, then palms skating over bristly short hair of a 'high and tight' haircut continued on, eventually snagging the well worn beret from Boone's head. The beret was always the first thing to go, a continued tradition from the first time they had kissed—_(chair skating across the floor, Arcade stood up, an uncharacteristic flush of anger on his face. Boone bolted onto his feet in response, fists and feet moving into a stance that was part army training and part gut instinct. "Take it back," Arcade said, in an oddly flat tone. Boone hadn't known him long enough to realize how dangerous it was when Arcade got quiet. "Won't," Boone spat back. "Won't take it back and won't patrol with you anymore. You can't hit the broad side of a bighorner bull for shit and I'm tired of you staring at my ass." Arcade threw up his hands, as if ridding himself of the accusation. "Sweetheart," Arcade replied sarcastically, "If you were the last man in the Mojave, I wouldn't touch you and that bundle of self loathing, dead wife issues, and masochism you call a personality with a stick." Now it was Boone's turn to look shocked. "Come over here and say that to my face," he challenged. Arcade didn't even think twice about it before striding across the floorboards of the presidential suit. For once, Arcade was glad of his height and drew himself up to loom over Boone. "What are you waiting for?" Arcade challenged, not afraid in the moment, but dulling registering the sense that he'd regret this later—if he _lived _to regret this later. Boone, licking his lips unconsciously, was suddenly unsure if he'd taken this too far. Sure, Gannon was a limp wristed shit shooter who talked just to hear his own voice, but he'd never been anything but cordial to Boone. What, exactly, was it about this man that made him angry? Boone was suddenly unsure of himself, unsure of the ugly ball of emotions in his gut towards Gannon—towards how he _felt _about Arcade—replied "I don't hit ladies." The words took a moment to register with Arcade, but when they did he reached up and snatched Boone's hat off the top of his head and flung it to the ground in a fit of unrestrained, childish anger. Both men had the good grace to look utterly shocked for a moment, comically mirroring a 'what the devil just happened' look at each other, and gaping like a fish. "I'm—so sorry. I don't know what came over me," Arcade started while running his hands through his thick, blond hair. Being that Arcade expected to get the smartass pummeled right out of him on the dusty, faded floor of the Lucky 38, it shocked him greatly when Boone seized him by the face and brought their lips together in a rough tangle. 'Oh my god,' thought Arcade, 'I didn't even see his fist move and he's hit me so hard that I'm having unconscious hallucinations.' Once, however, he felt the dull ache of his teeth where they clicked off of Boone's, and tasted the queer taste of a stranger's spit, he was obliged to accept that this was reality and that from now on things were going to be very, very different, to say the least.)_

Arcade snapped back to the present moment, chiding himself for taking a walk down memory lane at a time like this. He silently cursed his abnormally high need for cognition—the doctor's school term for smart people's ADHD—and shoved his tongue deeper into Boone's mouth to compensate. By this time Boone's hands had slipped down adventurously, cupping Arcade's bottom and waist respectively. Arcade felt Boone squeezing his bottom and thought it delightfully cheeky of the usually reserved man. Boone pulled his mouth away and the two of them waited a moment to regain their breath before sealing lips again. This time when Arcade slipped his tongue in Boone's mouth, the other man responded by pushing against it with his own tongue. The two of them battled for a moment before Arcade won out, using his experience to his advantage. Still, he couldn't help but be thrown off balance by Boone's seemingly new-found boldness.

Though they'd only been together four months, and intimate much less than that, the two had seemingly fallen into an established pattern of affection. Arcade was the bold one, the experienced one who took the lead. Boone was shy. He had to be coaxed, to be encouraged, by Arcade. Arcade's knowledge of psychology was limited but quite refined, and he suspected Boone of having deep rooted intimacy issues—issues that probably even stemmed pre-Carla. Guiltily, Arcade let his tongue fall back into his own mouth, and encouraged Boone as best he could to take the lead. If his man was showing a little bit of initiative, Arcade owed it to him to encourage it. Hell, if nothing else, it'd probably be good for Boone's self-esteem.

Arcade allowed himself to be led further into the room, glad to have the door jamb out of his back. Boone led him by the hips, walking backwards into the gloom of the kitchen of the Bison Steve Hotel. Almost as an afterthought, Arcade recalled the story of how the Courier and Boone had cleared the Powder Gangers out of the hotel. If his memory served him correctly, Arcade recalled that Deputy Beagle had died in this room, after the trio had been ambushed by the head of the Powder Gangers. It was nothing more than a passing observation; death didn't give today's Wastelanders the heebie-jeebies like it did in Arcade's great-grandfather's day. Yes, half a dozen men had died in this room a few months ago. That didn't make it any less of a prime spot to neck. Besides, most of the blood had been cleaned off of the walls and floors. Yeah, most of it….

The Courier had sent Boone and Arcade into the Bison Steve to forage for scrap and supplies to hawk. _Well I spy a pool table, _Arcade thought, _but I think Boone and I should test its structural integrity. _Boone must have had much the same idea, as he swung Arcade around and pushed him down to sit on the table. Feeling a wave of lust fueled impatience, Arcade began to pull Boone's shirt off, then his own. Finally, he could touch the smooth, tan skin of Boone's back and run his hands over the hard muscles of his lover's arms and stomach. Words could not express how painful it was to watch Boone strut around camp sans shirt and act like he _didn't _want to just bend the smaller man over and fuck him senseless. But they had appearances to keep, and their relationship was confined to quick kisses in their shared tent and surreptitious trysts in abandoned buildings. _I'm a 35 year old man and I still have to sneak around like a horn-dog teenager, _Arcade grumbled to himself. Yes, but moments like this made it worth it. He couldn't wait to be inside of his lover. It had been far too long.

Arcade's impatience reached a peak, and this heavy petting was no longer satisfying enough for him. Though Boone was apparently still content with nuzzling at his neck, Arcade slipped his fingers into the waist band of Boone's jeans and groped for the top button. Once the pants were unbuttoned, Arcade yanked the zipper down, not oblivious to the bulge in the front of Boone's pants, and pushed the jeans to the ground. Wasting no time, Arcade pushed his hands into the other man's underwear, tracing Boone's hip bones down into the V of his crotch.

Boone shivered in delight from the light touch, and Arcade continued his exploration with satisfaction. _Why, yes, everything appears to be working down here, _Arcade thought in an exaggerated doctor fashion, and then had to duck his head against Boone's chest to hide his self-amused smile. Next, Arcade allowed his hands to roam around those tanned hips until his fingers touched the dimples low on Boone's back. Arcade loved those dimples. When Boone gallivanted around camp shirtless, Arcade's eyes were easily drawn to them. He often found his lips curve into a smug smile as he thought to himself _I am the only man to have ever kissed those dimples. They belong to me now. _

Allowing his hands to dip under the waistband yet again, Arcade ran his hands over the firm and familiar swell of Boone's buttocks. Just as he was about to slip a finger into his lover, Boone suddenly pulled away. Arcade's hands pulled out of the underwear and fell into his lap. Surprised, Arcade looked up owlishly, and pushed his glasses back. "What's up," he asked.

"I want to top," Boone said, straight to the point as always.

"What?" Arcade replied, feeling his eyebrows arch in surprise. Boone had _never _topped. It was always up to Arcade to make the move, to be forceful, and ultimately, to seal the deal. Boone shuffled from foot to foot, as he was wont to do when he was uncomfortable, and wouldn't meet Arcade's eyes. It was usually much easier for Boone to mask his feelings when he could hide behind those ridiculously huge Johnny Thor glasses he wore. As it were, Boone was looking everywhere but into Arcade's eyes, another sign that he was nervous and uncomfortable. This new turn of events was quite interesting, to say the least.

Boone started to say something then bit the words off. He rocked uncomfortably from foot to foot some more, then said something in a low tone, too fast for Arcade to catch. "What did you say, love," Arcade said, pointing at his ear to signal that he couldn't hear. Boone glared a little at having to repeat himself, then said slightly more audibly, "You said last time, that the next time I could top. And I want to."

Arcade's eyebrows rose even higher. He recalled the last time they had made love. Yup. Just like he thought, Arcade had been land-blasted drunk. Needless to say, he didn't remember agreeing to anything of the sort. Arcade made to tell Boone so, then quickly changed his mind. If he said no now, Boone would never ask again. It was as simple as that. And this could prove to be interesting. _Yes,_ Arcade reaffirmed silently, _very, very interesting. Gah, even just imagining him taking control of me like he takes control of his sniper rifle is oddly attractive, in a weird, Rambo-fetishy sort of way. _

"Ok, then, Boone. Come over here and make me see stars." For a second, Boone didn't move, too surprised at the granting of his request. Then, in his quiet way, he accepted this new information with a blink. Boone closed the distance between them and immediately went for Arcade's pants. They were ripped off quickly, along with Arcade's underwear. Not waiting a moment to let Arcade adjust, Boone pushed the taller man down on the pool table, dropped his own drawers, and then climbed up after him. The two struggled a bit to get comfortable, as Boone straddled his lover's waist and tried to find a position easy on his knees, and Arcade wiggled around until most of him was on the pool table. Being tall certainly had its disadvantages.

Arcade waited impatiently for Boone to do something, _anything_ of value. _I'm right here where you want me, _he thought impatiently, though Boone was still reluctant to make the first move. Finally, Arcade lost all patience and grabbed Boone's hand, then guided it down to his bottom. Boone got the hint, and taking his lube slicked fingers, entered Arcade in a tortuously slow fashion. It was cute to watch Boone's face, as it was lost in concentration greater than what the situation at hand required. But then again, that was Boone; every task, no matter how small, required nothing less that careful consideration and a steady hand. _Um, no pun intended, _Arcade amended. With a low murmur, Arcade encouraged his lover to add a second finger. Arcade allowed his eyes to roll shut and tried to relax. It had been a very long time since he'd been on the receiving end of a romantic evening.

Though he'd had many partners—many more, say, then he'd care to discuss in pleasant conversation—and been in more sexual situations then he could rightly remember, Arcade couldn't help but feel like it was different, somehow all _new_ with Boone. Though Arcade hadn't been keen to bottom, he was enjoying himself. Not out of any particular desire to be fingered, no, Arcade actually disliked the invasive feeling, but out of the pleasure of making his partner happy. Is this what Daisy Whitman was talking about, all those years ago, when she spoke of the perfect woman—er, man—who would make every day on the Mojave magic, and who would make pleasure out of sacrifice? At the time, it seemed like sentiment better suited in past yore. Surely today, when everyone lived on the brink of annihilation and starvation in the indifferent bosom of the Mojave, there could be no room for such sentiment, only a quiet night here and there where you could pretend the Legion and the turf wars were nothing but a bad dream?

Suddenly unsure of what this all meant, Arcade pulled Boone down for a languid kiss to wipe away these troubling thoughts. Boone returned the embrace obligingly, and then continued to slick up his achingly erect penis in preparation to enter Arcade. Once that was done to his satisfaction, and he couldn't delay any longer, Boone met Arcade's eyes silently, asking permission. Arcade responded by letting his legs fall open wider and wrapping his arms lightly around Boone's shoulders. That was enough for Boone, who entered his lover as carefully as he could, and started thrusting shallowly. This shallow thrusting wasn't enough for Arcade, no, not at all. "You're not going to break me," Arcade chided quietly. "If you want me to be quiet then you better ride me like a pony." Boone actually had the courtesy to blush clear to the tips of his ears. Arcade looked on, pleasantly pleased with himself. He had found out long ago that any sort of dirt talk sent Boone into a delightfully unmanly scarlet bloom without fail. In response, Boone ducked his head a little to hide the blush, and obliged to move his hips a little faster.

Arcade was still not satisfied with the friction, even when he moved his hips in response, lifting off the pool table to meet the thrusts. "Faster, deeper," he coached with a low purr into Boone's ear. "I'm—trying," Boone puffed. "If we can still hold a conversation, then you're not trying hard enough," Arcade quipped back. This finally sent Boone into the next gear, probably more motivated to get Arcade to shut up than anything else. Arcade felt the solid table swaying beneath them with a little worry, but was finally too involved to express any concern. Arcade soon lost himself in the rhythm and sensation of being filled with Boone's aching cock and the sound of their panting breath filling the room. Arcade's hands wandered down to his own erection, and he wrapped his long fingers around it. Boone supported himself above Arcade on shaky arms, enjoying the thrill of being encased in the warm, tight insides of his lover for a change. Determined to not make Arcade regret his decision, Boone kept up the powerful roll of his hips as best he could, no longer afraid that he was hurting the other man, as his lover's face was awash with pleasure.

Sooner than he would have liked, Arcade became overcome with the sensation of Boone's thrusting and his own stroking. He came messily in between them, back arching and reckless moans falling from his lips. If nothing, Arcade was a dramatic sort of bastard. Boone, too, was soon overcome by the sensuous moans of his arching lover, and by the tightening of Arcade's insides around him as he came. Unlike his lover, though, Boone was more reserved, only permitting low sighs and deep breaths to signal his orgasm. He released deep inside his lover with a final thrust, then lay still a moment, hoping he was crushing Arcade underneath his weight. He need not have worried, as Arcade found the nearness pleasant, and even kissed Boone's neck lightly in response. They laid there a moment longer, Arcade relaxing as best he could, trapped between the hard felt pool table and Boone's weight. Arcade reflected on the sensation of his lover going soft inside of him as they lay there, and found that he didn't mind so much.

Boone finally had enough strength in his arms to pick himself up again and detangle his limbs from Arcade's. Next, he carefully removed his flaccid penis from his lover, going scarlet again at the simply obscene sound it made. Boone slid off of the pool table, inwardly groaning as his knees shouted painfully at him for kneeling on that blasted pool table. Next, he held a hand out to help Gannon off of the pool table. Arcade stretched languidly, and Boone averted his eyes, under the pretext of gathering their clothes. This didn't escape Arcade, however, who smirked inwardly and made it a point to walk over to where Boone was bent over. "So, come here often," Arcade inquired in a burlesque smooth talking cadence, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that his junk was in Boone's face. Boone straightened up, unsurprisingly flushed and sporting a stern visage. "You're incorrigible," he grunted back, slinging the mess of clothes onto the table.

"That's why you love me," Arcade said back, with more ease than he felt. He hadn't meant to say those words; they just kind of slipped out. Three months ago, they wouldn't have mattered. They would have just been another of Gannon's World Famous Witty Jaunts. Now, however, they gave Arcade pause. Because just what, exactly, _was _their relationship? Arcade could now grudgingly admit to himself that he felt quite fond of Boone, but what if the other man didn't feel the same way? Suddenly very in danger of going red in the face himself, Arcade busied himself with sorting the clothing into piles, not giving Boone the chance to respond. They dressed in silence.

Arcade, however, was not very good at silence. "Hey, Boone," he started softly. Boone looked up from buttoning his pants to show that he had his attention. "Did you ever think about telling people about, um, us?" Judging by the shocked look on Boone's face, that was a definite no. "Well," continued Arcade nervously, "I certainly don't mean the whole Mojave. I don't even mean acquaintances. Just the people close to us." Arcade finished flatly, wishing he had never even brought it up.

"I just—um, our relationship is, uh, well I just feel like it's our business," Boone responded, clearly uncomfortable. Without meaning to, Arcade felt himself becoming angry with Boone—and angry with himself. _This is what happens when you care about people… _he thought bitterly. "I just don't like the thought of other people in our business," Boone continued, reading Arcade's lack of comment as dangerous. "I mean, even the Courier doesn't know…"

"Of course the Courier knows," Arcade said stiffly, acting like he was quite engaged in getting the buttons of his shirt done up correctly. When he was finished he glanced up at Boone's face, which was incredulous. "Boone, she knows. Trust me. Why do you think she always pairs us up on recon missions? Hell, she even gave us a tent to share."

"That doesn't mean anything," Boone said gruffly, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Besides, why do you want to tell people about us," Boone said, trying to change the conversation.

"Well, I probably shouldn't be saying this aloud, but I care about you, Boone. I care a lot. Hell, I'll say it. I might even love you. So there," Arcade said, trying to act like he didn't care, like he wasn't confessing feelings he was sure were one sided. Boone didn't say anything, and Arcade didn't care to meet his eyes. He strode across the kitchen to the door frame, and picked up his holster. With shaking fingers, Arcade was so focused on fastening the buckles that he didn't notice Boone had crossed the floor until the other man's arms were around him. Boone buried his face in Arcade's neck and kissed it softly. "I care about you a whole lot, too. And I love you too." Arcade couldn't stop his fingers from losing grip on the holster, and he let it fall to the floor, forgotten. He turned around and hugged Boone hard, not feeling the need to say aloud how much those words had meant to him.

When they loosened their embrace, Boone said "I'm sorry I'm such an ass. I'm not good with this touchy-feely stuff. But I want to make you happy. And if that means telling some people about us, then I trust you. But can we go slow? It takes me a little time to get used to stuff."

Arcade nodded emphatically, not trusting himself to speak. _I'm acting like a woman right now. Better not cry, though. No telling how far we can push Boone's emotional growth,_ he thought sarcastically. "We can just start with the Courier and go from there, ok?" Boone nodded. Arcade reached down to snag Boone's beret, and felt incredibly happy as he put it back on his lover's head.

XxXxX

Two days later, Arcade awoke late as usual, and scrambled to get dressed. Poking his head out of the tent, he could see the Courier and Boone sitting on logs around the campfire, eating breakfast off of tin plates. After he had his shoes on, Arcade shuffled out of the tent. Midstride, Arcade paused, a devious plan forming. Should he?

_Never suppress an urge, _Arcade thought, grinning deviously.

Arcade stepped over the log and plopped himself down next to Boone, slinging his arms around the shorter man before he had time to react. "Hey, baby," Arcade said, popping a kiss on Boone's neck. "Sleep ok last night?" Boone gaped at him, giving him a look that was part _have you lost your mind_ and part _what the hell are you doing. _Arcade pretended not to notice. He also didn't let his arm drop from Boone's shoulders. The Courier was looking them both levelly. "Want some squirrel bits," she asked Arcade. "They're actually not half bad this morning."

"Nah, I'll just have some fruit," Arcade replied. The Courier swung her gaze to Boone pointedly, who still wore a look of utter shock and embarrassment. "Oh," Arcade said, as if just noticing. "He thinks you didn't know about us," he explained.

The Courier only snorted. "Really? I though you guys just really got a kick out of sneaking around. It's not really any of my business. You've been going out, what, three months?"

"A little over four," Arcade corrected. The Courier nodded then turned her attention back to her meal. Arcade looked at Boone with a Cheshire grin. "You're completely incorrigible," Boone mumbled.

"But that's why you love me," Arcade quipped back, pleased that Boone was taking this so well.

"….Yeah, you're right," Boone affirmed before pulling his beret lower on his forehead and taking another bite of breakfast.

XxXxX

**[A/N In my humble opinion, there is not nearly enough Booncade floating around on this site. Well I have a mind to fix that D**

**If you're part of the small NV Booncade community and you've read to the end, please leave a review. It'd be much appreciated, partner. **

**Lastly, if you're a tumblr-ey type of person, feel free to check out my tumblr! The user name is BonsaiBabe, and there's a link in my author profile! It's mostly just nonsense that I find amusing as I navigate my ridiculous ships and internet interests.]**


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